My First Trip to the Market... Almost

We have been eating good wholesome food for our first week in Cameroon but I had no idea of where it came from or how it got to our table.  Maura had the pleasure of venturing to the market on our third day here.  She described it as “colorful chaos.”  On our fourth day Maura and I had a little time on our own while the kids slept so we decided to go for a walk.  Maura thought it would be good for the two of us to see the market together just to get an idea of the items for sale there.  Once we stepped off the mission grounds (which I had not left since arriving) I entered into the life of true Bamenda.  As we walked the tightrope down the side of the street dodging zooming motorcycles, other vehicles, pedestrians carrying anything possible on their heads and the many other hazards of the side of the road, the thought came to me that maybe we should have stayed in our little mission compound bubble.  By the time that idea came to me I had no idea of how to turn around and not get hit by some moving object so we kept on moving.

As we approached what looked like the center of town it was obvious we were on the wrong side of the street.  No big deal, I thought, just walk across Commercial Avenue to see all the vendors and stores on the other side, not quite.  Crossing the street felt like trying to swim across the Mississippi River, and this is coming from a professional jay walker in Chicago.  There were no breaks in the flow of traffic but somehow I watched several pedestrians safely cross the street.  I didn’t know whether to hold Maura’s hand for dear life or just run, I chose the former option and said a quick prayer.  Maura of course giggled her way across but somehow we made it.

Traveling down Commercial Avenue it was apparent we could probably buy whatever we wanted while breathing diesel fumes and listening to really loud music.  Amidst all this chaos Maura realized she could not find the official market she had been to the day before because she had taken a taxi there.  By the way, the taxi she took was one of those zooming motorcycles.  The area we had walk around had many store front shops but it was not the open air market.  We both decided it was time to retreat back home to our safety bubble but not before crossing the raging Mississippi again.

I will let you know I did successfully make it to the market today (day 7) and saw it for all its glory and action.  Being in the middle of the chaos felt a bit like home for me, like being back on the trading floor.  The merchants were very kind and not nearly as pushy as I have encountered in other countries.   Now I know what a task it is to get food to the table.

-Ryan

Savor

(This post was written the week of July 1st.)

Last week, Honora, my oldest was sick.  She would wake at night in pain, and I found myself praying that somehow I could trade places with her.  She would seem to get better, and then a couple days later she would be sick again.  We were then just a couple weeks away from leaving for Africa, and I could feel the fear creep into me.  What if she is really sick?  What if we don’t figure it out, and then we are in Africa and the help she needs is not there?  I am good at worrying. 

Feed your hopes, not your fears.  I read that on a bumper sticker this morning.  These are words of wisdom I should take to heart.  Well, I am trying, not successfully, but there has been a great deal of effort put forth.  It has to count for something, right?

I have had both peaks and valleys in my life.  It is interesting to me that some of the greatest gifts in my life have been found, not on the peaks, but in the valleys.  While I spend all the time in the darkness hoping and praying to be out, looking back on it I wouldn’t trade those struggles for the world.  The gifts found there have been so great that I have been known to pray for valleys.  It is a prayer that I whisper, and then I hope that God didn’t hear me.  The panic then sets in, because God always hears, and valleys, well valleys are all kinds of inappropriate words that I have to continue to edit out.

The past six months have been difficult.  We have dealt with more illness than we had in the previous six years (thanks in large part to extensive travel and exposure to new germ pools and we have not left the country yet!?!).  We have been far from family and friends at times that we really long to be close.  We have moved into a community of strangers and had to figure out the balance of living well together.  Most difficult of all has been our long list of goodbyes.  Goodbye to work we love.  Goodbye to home.  Goodbye to loved ones, and goodbye does not get easier with experience.

Valleys, yuck.

I said something about gifts in the valleys, right?

They are there.  I just have to wake up to recognize them.  There is nothing like goodbye, to rouse me from the slumber of all that I take for granted.  There is nothing like illness to make me savor the bliss of health.  We have been given the opportunity to recognize our blessings and the space to communicate our gratitude.

Valleys are not so bad, when balanced with the gifts.  Living in gratitude is a gift.

Seeing things that were ordinary with new eyes; family, friends, hot showers, washing machines, dryers, cheese and ice cream.  There is nothing like the prospect of not having something at my fingertips to savor it all the more.

One more week of hot showers.  One more week of comfort food.  One more week of familiar faces before we head home to a place we have never known.  

- Maura